


Stolen Fruits From Your Lips

by Siana



Series: Not all that Glitters is Lost [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: If Finrod were a sandwich filling, M/M, Multi, he'd be the most popular sandwich filling, like ham, some mild bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:22:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29945811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siana/pseuds/Siana
Summary: Findaráto accidentally catches a glimpse of his cousins' marriage bond. His cousins decide to show him more than just a glimpse.
Relationships: Fingon | Findekáno/Finrod Felagund | Findaráto/Maedhros | Maitimo, Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo, Maedhros | Maitimo/Finrod Felagund | Findaráto
Series: Not all that Glitters is Lost [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2206413
Comments: 12
Kudos: 31





	Stolen Fruits From Your Lips

**Author's Note:**

> Working title: "Finrod's sexual awakening"

It is, ironically, to one of Makalaurë’s songs that Findaráto catches a glance at Maitimo’s naked form. He is bent over what looks suspiciously like someone’s work desk, and trembling with an anticipation that is altogether foreign to Findaráto.

He didn’t mean to spy, it is merely that Findaráto’s gift of foresight sometimes skewed oddly sideways, dropping disjointed images into his mind, gleamed from the bonds of the elves around him.

The mood is merry on this night of the Mereth Aederthad, wine and song flowing freely and it might have been this pleasant lassitude, having partaken in some of the wine himself, that makes him more receptive than usual. Makalaurë has just taken up his harp and started singing, an embellished rendition of Maitimo’ rescue by the hands of Findekáno the valiant and Findaráto languishes under the canopy of a tree, blissful and happy as he never thought he would be after the events of their departure from Valinor. It is a rare peace, blessed doubly by their kin being reunited. Either way, he is entirely unprepared when the vision unfolds in his mind. Worse still, Makalaurë had just started the verse where Findekáno is cradling Maitimo on top of the eagle and now Findaráto has distinct thoughts of cradling _something_.

The thoughts are not his own, nor is the vision, nay the memory, for it comes with a distinct taste of a well-trodden path. It is clearly Maitimo, the hair an unmistakable tell. He is naked and glistening with sweat, sides heaving as if freshly exerted and his legs are trembling, perhaps from being spread so far apart or, as that memory that is not his own asserts, with _anticipation_.

Findaráto sits frozen, eyes wide as they draw inexorably towards his eldest cousin, even as the vision fades, even as Maitimo-in-the-vision turns his head to look at him coyly, and his eyes meet his cousin’s, both in the vision and in truth.

He jerks his head away on reflex, feeling as though he had been caught doing something he oughtn’t. And he had been doing just that, had he not? One is not supposed to pry into others’ marriage bonds, by accident or not. By rights, he ought to beg forgiveness, but he does not even know to whom. He did not know Maitimo was married, let alone to whom and either way, the mortification of having to confess to whoever they are that he had been prying would surely kill him.

He wants to cover his eyes and weep. The vision, while faded from the forefront of his mind will not fade from his memory and he finds himself drawn to it, to inspect it closely, to uncover every little detail. It’s his cousin, and certainly he had never seen him in such a light but oh what a lovely light it is.

Maitimo is beautiful. Still is, but in this memory he is yet hale and unmarred, skin pale and unblemished and he looks at him - nay, not him but who then? - with naked desire. Suddenly, he feels very much uncomfortable in his breeches. He does not dare look up in fear Maitimo may still be watching him, even if the urge to know to find out who he is bonded to is nigh unbearable. It is not purely curiosity, it is the desire to understand the mind that had shared this memory, so he may better understand the cravings that have woken in himself.

But then, he thinks of the desk he had glimpsed and he _knows_ that desk but surely that does not mean? It had been Findekáno’s, in his study in Valinor. It is easy to recognize for the large ink stain Írissё had caused after trying to sneak in and find her brother’s stash of erotica on a dare. Findekáno had caught her and in her panic she had thrown over his ink bottle, leaving a large splash of black down the side of the desk. Findekáno had refused to replace the desk, saying this sister - and brother who had raised the dare, need be reminded of their shame every time they came to him for something.

But surely that does not mean Findekáno had been the source of the vision? But who else? Who would dare spread Maitimo over Findekáno’s desk, if not him? In the very least, Findaráto is sure they must be _nér_. It is not easy to parse, but the echo of intent that had come with the vision had been distinctly _male_ in flavor. Between his legs he has grown quite stiff and he feels this sensation mirrored in the memory. Whoever had sent it, whoever had felt it, had been hard. Very much so and very eager to use it on Maitimo.

That thought is strange and new. The Laws and Customs had said naught about _neri_ sharing in love or marriage. But they had not said it was forbidden either. Findaráto ponders that, for it is a better course for his thoughts than straying to his cousin’s fair form.

He had found many a _nís_ pleasing to the eye, but it had never kindled in him the sort of fire he feels now, never quite made him feel so… encumbered. Certainly, his sister would have found a more crude rendering to put his discomfort into words, but he would be loath to share this experience with her. He wonders what it would feel like to be spread thus, baring himself so completely.

And Maitimo, in this memory, had seemed _excited-_

Findaráto exhales and takes a sip from his goblet. Makalaurë has finished his performance - he cannot even recall its ending, his thoughts caught in the upheaval of his personal revelation. A figure makes its way over to him and Findaráto welcomes the distraction. He pulls his legs together to make room, and even more so to hide any evidence of his excitement.

“Ingoldo,” Turukáno says warmly and sits down next to him, leaning against the same protruding root Findaráto had been nestled against. “ The wine must have agreed with you,” he says grinning and peering closely at Findaráto’s face. “You look very healthily flushed.”

Undoubtedly more so now, Findaráto thinks wryly. He runs a finger over the rim of his goblet, making the glass sing high and sweet. “It is very sweet,” he says and Turukáno laughs. They are friends in many things, but in this one they are not. Turukáno has no taste for sweetness, not the way Findaráto has. But then that means Turukáno will never try and steal his treats the way his thieving brothers do, so they do work out quite well together.

He wonders then if he ought to tell Turukáno. But what is there to say? _I’ve seen into your brother’s mind, and now I am thinking of the intent I have glimpsed there, my fingers on cousin Maitimo’s rim. Mayhaps he sings as sweetly as this glass._

He doesn’t though, and for a while it is easy to forget what he has seen in the company of his friend. His heated blood cools over his friend’s retelling of how a very drunk Tyelkormo had tried to proposition Írissё right in front of Ñolofinwё.

It is only later, when the fires have died down and most elves have retired to their quarters or tents, or bed under the stars, that Findaráto’s thoughts return to the vision. Turukáno has long since excused himself, leaving Findaráto alone with his reverie. It is not solely his cousins that entice him, but the idea of it. Of being like Maitimo had been, presenting for someone else’s pleasure, that someone else being a _nér_.

Findaráto makes his way towards the fortress on the lake’s shores. As Fingolfin’s own kin, he has guest rooms there, and it is there that he is headed. Still, his thoughts are restless and he doubts he will find sleep easy tonight.

He passes by the gate leading inside and instead walks around the walls to the shore of lake Mithrim, whirling thoughts drawn to the placid stillness of the lake. So lost in thought is he, that he is startled when there’s sudden boot treads next to him and then Findekáno says in his ears, “Out for a midnight stroll, dear cousin?”

But more than the sudden appearance of this particular cousin, it is the proximity that unsettles Findaráto. Findekáno stands close, close enough to touch and there is a queer light in his eyes that makes Findaráto shiver with unnamed anticipation. Of what, he cannot say.

“Findekáno,” Findaráto says inanely. Findekáno smiles. Distant firelight dances on the gold woven into his hair and it strikes Findaráto just how _beautiful_ he is.

“A rare pleasure to find you alone,” Findekáno says and his voice has dropped in pitch. Findaráto almost sighs. He feels flushed and off balance and still, Findekáno stands so close he can smell the sweet flowery scent of his hair. Findaráto leans closer despite himself. ”Told you, he would like it,” Findekáno murmurs and it is only then that Findaráto realizes the second elf behind him.

He almost steps away then, Maitimo’s eyes are smoldering, but then his lips spread into a slow hungry smile and Findaráto has seen this one before. Not from his own memory, but _Findekáno’s_.

“We ought to apologize, cousin,” Maitimo says. “Finno can be very _enthusiastic_ sometimes.”

“Indeed,” Findekáno says, “I did not mean to startle you, Findaráto.”

“No matter,” Findaráto says, at least he knows hot to tread the roads of politeness. “I was deep in thought, and did not hear you approach.”

“I don’t doubt it. I wonder then, what path did your thoughts take? Won’t you share with us?”

Findaráto feels his ears burn with heat. He cannot quite bring himself to meet Findekáno’s eyes, but lowering his eyes leads his gaze to his cousin’s lips instead. And again he thinks of the vision, of the glimpse he had caught, Maitimo bent over, Findekáno’s own _hunger_ as he had gazed upon what was offered, thinking of what to do next.

“You really must have liked it,” Findekáno says quietly, “for you to be like this.”

“Won’t you tell us?” Maitimo asks and for a long moment Findaráto doesn’t quite understand. But then he does and this time he does take a step back, hit by the terrible thought that they _know_ , that Findekáno must have sensed his intrusion and now-

“Findaráto,” says Findekáno. And then, “Ingoldo.” Findaráto shudders. Only his closest kin and friends call him that and there is intimacy in the way Findekáno says it, his voice low and deep.

“Forgive me,” Findaráto says, voice trembling ever so slightly, “I did not mean to.”

“We know. It was my fault more than yours. I was too eager. I only wished to entice Russo, but it seems I enticed you too. You liked it, did you not?”

Eru, but he did. Findaráto nods jerkily. There is no point in denying what his body is so obviously giving away.

“Of course,you did,” Findekáno smiles. “How could you not? Would you not like it even more if Russo were spread out like that for you? For your pleasure alone?”

And then there is the faintest brush to his _fёa,_ Findekáno quietly offering another vision, another memory. And this time it is Maitimo on his back, his wrists tied to his ankles, head arched back in rapt pleasure.

Findaráto gasps and the vision scatters.

“I don’t think that’s what he would like,” Maitimo says. His voice is deeper still than Findekáno’s, made raspier by the years of his torment, but there too is a breathy quality, an echo of the anticipation he had seen in the first vision.

“No?” Findekáno asks.

“No,” Maitimo confirms, stepping closer so that Findaráto is now locked between the two. “I think what sweet Ingoldo wants is to be in my place.”

Findaráto inhales, shaky now, for it is true and terrifying for being laid out in the open. But Findekáno delights in the revelation. “Ohhh,” he coos, “you would, would you not? How about it then? Shall I make you my plaything? Or better yet, have Maitimo play with you to my delight?”

“You don’t have to,” Maitimo whispers and his breath is hot against the shell of Findaráto’s ear. “If this is not what you want, say only the word.”

They have not touched him yet, Findaráto realizes. And he is not surprised to realize he wants them too, the longing an almost physical ache upon his skin. “Please,” he breathes, ere he can think of the folly of it, “I would very much like to.”

“Ai, Ingoldo,” Findekáno says, “how much I wished to hear you say thus. What shall it be then? Will you take Maitimo? Or you him? Or shall I take you as I wish it?”

“I don’t know,” Findaráto says helplessly. He doesn’t, for he has no knowledge of these things, how it would be, or how it would feel truly and if it would be something he could endure without losing his mind.

“That is quite all right,” Findekáno says, smoothing his palm against Findaráto’s cheek. “We can find out. Come then, this is not a deed to be done outside.”

Findaráto follows the retreat of Findekáno’s hand, seeking the warmth and comfort it has offered and behind him Maitimo quietly laughs. It feels like a dream, that his desires, of which he scarcely knew this morning, ought to be answered. But it is real and easy to prove too, all he needs is to reach out to either of his cousins to firm the solidness of their bodies.

Together they make their way inside the fortress, three cousins returning from festivities and none of the guards or elves about pauses to wonder what they intend. Findekáno leads them to his own quarters, larger than Findaráto’s, for of course he is the High King’s son, newly crowned as he is. The inside is lavishly appointed, several rooms of tasteful luxury and then the bedroom door closes and Findaráto feels the first tendrils of apprehension.

He is a wanderer at heart, called to adventure and exploration, but this is a road he does not know how to tread.

“Everything is your choice,” Findekáno says as he again cups his face. “May I kiss you?”

This is an easy choice at leas. “Aye,” he says and then Findekáno pulls him forward and into his arms and his lips are hot on Findaráto’s. If this is what kissing feels like, Findaráto would gladly dedicate more time to it. Findekáno is like a wildfire, raging and greedy, and Findaráto can do little but be swept along in its course.

Findekáno slides his leg between Findaráto’s and draws it upwards and Findaráto gasps, finding he has grown hard again without much of his own incentive. He grinds downward, chasing the friction and Findekáno meets him eagerly until Findaráto is lost entirely in the sensation.

Maitimo comes up behind him, tall and solid and he runs his hand down Findaráto’s flank. He moans, even through the cloth of this garments, the touch sends tendrils of heat through him.

“You are so beautiful, Ingoldo,” Maitimo whispers against his hear. “Truly the fairest of the Ñoldor.”

Findaráto keens, high and needy and he would be scandalized at himself if Maitimo hadn’t just pressed himself against his back then, and Findaráto realizes with quiet shock that he is _naked_. He had not even realized that he had disrobed, too lost as he had been in Findekáno’s kissing.

“Don’t you want to see?” Findekáno murmurs against his lips. “Magnificent Russandol.”

“It doesn’t compare,” Maitimo says somberly.

“It doesn’t need to;” Findekáno returns. “I would not compare the mighty river to the lake. For both are made of water, but one is strong and untamed and the other is sweet and beautiful.”

“This is not the time for poetry,” Findaráto chides, “although I do thank you for comparing me to a lake.”

Findekáno laughs, “oh cousin, you bear no comparison. There is naught in this wolrd that could stand beside you and not come short.”

“He says the same about my cock,” Maitimo puts in.

Findaráto finds that he has crossed beyond the threshold of embarrassment and does not care to be shy or mortified anymore. He is here now, by his own will, and aught that follows he will welcome gladly.

He turns around then, staying int he cradle of Findekáno’s arms and beholds what so far he has only seen in pale memory.

Maitimo is tall, the tallest of the house of Finwё,towering over Findaráto by near a head and Findekáno was right, he is magnificent. His captivity in Angband has marked him deeply. There are many scars on him that may never fade, there too is a roughness to his face that was not there before and there is of course the stump where his right hand used to be. But all of that has only lent a sharper beauty to his features, the fire in his eyes no less captivating for its harshness.

“Ai!” Findaráto says, “truly magnificent.” He reaches out slowly, hesitantly and upon Maitimo’s encouraging nod, rests his fingers against his skin. Findaráto trails his hand over Maitimo’s chest, tips of his fingers catching against scars and Maitimo sighs, the planes of his chest heaving and there flees a tension as if he’d had held himself rigid before.

“Go on,” Findekáno murmurs encouragingly, nuzzling into the curve of Findaráto’s neck, grazing skin with teeth and tongue. “He likes being touched.” He did, it seems, Maitimo’s thick member stands tall to attest to it, pearling liquid at the head and each of Findaráto’s touches seems to travel towards it. It is shorter than he’d have though but so much thicker and he wonders if something like this could even fit. He thrills to find out.

Findaráto traces scars down his chest and already Maitimo’ breathing comes uneven. Daringly, he smoothes the palm of his hand over one nipple and watches with pleasure, as the muscles jump under his touch.

He feels bold and strong like this, Findekáno behind him and Maitimo in front, both so intently fixated on him.

He brings his other hand up then. Trailing it up to Maitimo’ left shoulder and then down the arm, catching his hand with his own. Maitimo’s hand is larger than Findaráto’s, the fingers strong and calloused. He lifts the hand up to his mouth and gently kisses the knuckles of each finger seeking to meet Maitimo’ gaze as he does.

Maitimo’ eyes fall closed and he sighs again, lips parting slightly and it comes to Findaráto that he has yet to kiss his eldest cousin.

Findekáno trails his fingers down Findaráto’s flanks and then underneath the folds of his robes, bolder now as Findaráto too grows ever more daring. He pulls on Maitimo’s hand. “I wish to kiss you. May I?”

In answer, Maitimo licks his lips and his gaze fall to Findaráto’s own and then he kisses him, fiercer and hungrier than even Findekáno had. Findaráto moans, head falling back and then Findekáno’s hand drags over his clothed bulge and Findaráto is utterly, irrevocably lost. He could not have said how much time passed like this. With Maitimo kissing him, one hand buried in Findaráto’s hair, tangling all the carefully arranged braids and Findekáno behind him, rubbing and touching him until he feels madness lap at his mind.

Then Maitimo breaks away, Findaráto mindlessly follows him but is held back by Findekáno closing his arms around him.

“Look at you,” Maitimo says, awed. He gently pushes a wayward strand of hair out of Findaráto’s face. “Oh Finno, if you could see him.”

“I shall,” Findekáno says, “but first I think you ought to disrobe cousin. Or would you like if we attended to it?”

“Aye!” gasps Findaráto, desperate to rub his naked skin against his cousin’s. Preferably bot of them at the same time.

They do just that. Slowly, maddeningly so, they divest him of his garments, and he regrets now, every bit of cloth he had donned, the layers only serving as obstacles to his pleasure now. In vain, he tries to urge them, but they will not rush, no matter how much he wishes them to.

It is torment, as sweet as it is, each garment removed replaced with a rain of kisses, with gentle hands in his hair until Findaráto feels himself unravel.

And then at last, he is unclad and then Maitimo lifts him up, as easy as if he were not a grown _nér_ and sets him gently down on the bed. He immediately leans in to kiss Findaráto again, naked bodies pressed together and he would not have thought it could feel like this. There is an ache under his skin that can only be quelled by the touch of another and blessedly, what Maitimo is lacking in hands he is making up with ardent vigor. Findaráto lets himself be pressed down onto the cool silk, lets Maitimo cover him with his body, heavy and warm. Their members are trapped together, sliding against each other and it is oh so delicious.

They’re soon joined by Findekáno who has rid himself of his own garments and now slots himself to Findaráto’s side, his swollen member nudging at Findaráto’s hip. It’s hard to decide whom he ought to focus on, either so willing to kiss and lick him and he cannot quite split his attention in a way that feels adequate.

“So what will it be, dear cousin?” Findekáno whispers into his ear, as Maitimo shifts off him to lie on his other side. “The choice is yours.”

But how could he chose, if he cannot even know himself what he would truly like? But then, he thinks again of the vision he’d first received, of Maitimo bent and ready, the tremble in his thighs from holding himself thus. Findaráto sighs, tremulously, thinking of himself like that and if this is truly his choice, then it shall be this.

“Use me,” he says daringly, “as you please.”

“Are you sure?” asks Maitimo.

“Aye. As sure as I can be. I have seen what is in your mind and I like it very much.”

“Well then I shall tell you what I will like to do to you. And you will tell me if aught is to your displeasure and we shan’t do it.” There is a slight edge to Findekáno’s voice now, an echo perhaps, of command and Findaráto recalls, he _is_ Ñolofinwё’s son. “What say you?”

“Aye,” Findaráto says, breathlessly.

“Good,” he leans in and presses a kiss to Findaráto’s forehead. “Now make that ‘Aye, my Lord’ and you shall address me as such or not address me at all.”

Findaráto’s mouth is dry and he has to swallow, ere he can make himself speak and obey.

“Very good,” Findekáno whispers, “you will do very well. Now, Russo will prepare you.” His eyes flick up, sharing a glancewith Maitimo and he quietly withdraws. But Findaráto cannot trace his path as Findekáno grasps his chin and holds it angled towards him. “You have seen him, how big he is. And now you will feel it.”

Findaráto shudders, his thighs rubbing together of their own volition. He wants, oh how he wants.

“You can take it,” Findekáno says with surety. “You will be good and take Russo and you will look lovely and beautiful while you do it.” Findaráto doesn’t notice as Maitimo returns, too transfixed by the cool fire in Findekáno’s eyes. Ai but Findekáno is exquisite. Findaráto rolls on his side, to better face Findekáno and oh he had not had opportunity to truly look. But he does now and what a feast it is. Findekáno is lithe where Maitimo is bulky, but there is strength in his limbs and Findaráto wonders what it would feel like if this strength were used on him.

Just then, Maitimo settles in behind him again, warm hands trailing blazes of fire down his sides. Findaráto sighs, shifting back against Maitimo and then, when Maitimo groans in pleasure when his ass grinds against his member, he does it again, chasing after that sound. 

“Shh, darling,” Findekáno murmurs, lifting a hand to Findaráto’s face. “Let him work. You shall not lack for pleasure, my sweet.”

Maitimo strokes his flanks, as if gentling a horse and perhaps that is indeed what it is, as Findaráto feels his nerves flutter with renewed anticipation. He has only a vague notion of what is to come, but he trusts his cousins and either way, Findekáno’s eyes are warm and reassuring, so there is no need to be afraid.

Still, it is a surprise when Maitimo’s fingers slides into the cleft of his ass, even more so when he spreads his cheeks to better press a finger inside.

Findaráto tenses instinctively, the intrusion foreign and strange, but Findekáno pulls him into another kiss and then he almost forgets about Maitimo breeching him. Almost, that is until Maitimo strikes a glancing blow against _something_ inside him and Findaráto feels sparks alight in his veins. He does it again and Findaráto moans against Findekáno’s lips. Maitimo adds another finger, rubbing into him with more force and still strikes that sweet spot with precision. He does it over and over until Findaráto is quivering in Findekáno’s arms, desperate for more and yet the precipice seems tauntingly out of reach.

All through it, Findekáno whispers encouragement and praise, his words a gentle rain - counterpoint to the wildfire sparked by Maitimo’s skilled hand. And then it stops, Maitimo withdrawing and Findaráto feels strangely empty and wanting.

“My beautiful Ingoldo,” Findekáno says, brushing a thumb over Findaráto’s flushed cheek. “The things I want to do to you. I ought to have you on your knees, begging me for it.” Findaráto shudders, his member giving and interested throb between his legs. “Or maybe on all fours, your ass in the air, ready and waiting for me.” He suddenly grabs Findaráto’s hair roughly, tilting his head backwards to an almost painful angle and then bites at the skin of his neck. “Russo, what do you say we bend our pretty little elfling over and have our way with him?”

“Do you really need to ask?” says Maitimo, voice rough. “I would take him anywhere, if you’d ask me to and even if you didn’t.”

“Did you hear that?” Findekáno says. “How _eager_ he is for you? Shall I let him have you? Perhaps over that table. Nay, I shall tie you to the bedpost, put you at our mercy. And then Russo shall take his pleasure from you and I from him. I would gag you too, but I did say I want to hear you beg for it. How does that sound?”

Findaráto has no words, he can only moan. He feels utterly wrecked and cannot quite fathom how there is still more to come. But he wants it, all they have to give him, he wants.

They set to it then, with quick efficiency. Findekáno does as he has said and bends Findaráto over the bed, tying his wrists to the opposite bedpost, so he is stretched out, his legs spread wide and open, toes just barely reaching the floor on the other side. This must be how Maitimo had felt in that memory. It feels so much better than he could have expected, the vulnerability, the openness. He’s trembling, his member hard and weeping and he has yet to be touched there.

Findekáno sits on the bed next to him, while Maitimo stands behind him, close enough to feel his presence but not touching. Findaráto strains backwards, eager for contact but Maitimo stands cruelly out of range.

“You know what to do,” Findekáno orders, smoothing a hand down Findaráto’s temple.

“Please,” Findaráto says, voice shaking. “Please, I cannot stand it anymore.” And then, remembering himself, “please, my Lord.”

Findekáno takes his face into his hands and leans in close. “Oh, but you can. Not today perhaps, but I know you could take it beautifully. Just like Russo does. The two of you together, how ought I ever be so lucky as to have you both?” Findaráto whimpers. “But I shall have mercy on you today. My sweet, lovely Ingoldo.”

He gestures to Maitimo, who steps closer at last. Findaráto cannot see what he is doing, but he feels something thick and blunt nudge at his entrance and then Maitimo pushes inside, slow and steady and Findaráto jerks against his bonds. It’s so much thicker than his fingers had been and longer too. When Findaráto thinks for sure this is as deep as it goes, Maitimo keeps going until he is sheathed completely, his hands settling on Findaráto’s hips. He stays like this, until Findaráto stops trembling and then longer still, until Findekáno has moved away.

Maitimo groans then, shaky and deep and his fingers dig into Findaráto’s hips.

Findaráto can only guess at what is happening, but then Maitimo rocks against him, somehow pushing in even deeper and what little speculation there was, falls from Findaráto’s mind. Maitimo thrusts into him, once, twice and then he too bends over, placing his left arm near Findaráto’s shoulder, his hair falling on Findaráto’s back like curtain. His moans mingle with Findaráto’s own, a counterpoint melody to the staccato rhythm of Findekáno rocking them both.

It feels incredible, being touched at such deep a spot and yet it is not enough. Findaráto’s member drags over the sheets with every thrust, the pressure just shy of bringing release. Tears spring to his eyes and he is moaning freely, overcome by sensation. Maitimo too is panting, his breath hot on Findaráto’s shoulder. How he can hold himself up with one arm, when he must feel doubly what Findaráto does, is near wondrous.

Distantly, he is aware of Findekáno’s voice, praising them both and then he too, falls into incoherency, and the whole insane rhythm of their coupling falters at last. Maitimo gasps and folds, forehead butting against Findaráto’s shoulder and then he bites hard into Findaráto’s skin, body spasming erratically.

He pulls out soon after, slipping free with an obscene sound, but Findaráto has yet to find release. He is sobbing now, tears streaking down his face. “Please,” he gasps desperately.

“Hush,” Findekáno soothes, “We have you.” And then Findekáno unties his hands and Maitimo pulls him up and against him and at long last, finally touches him. It does not take much, a few strokes and exploding stars eclipse Findaráto’s vision as he spills into Maitimo’s hand.

It takes him a long time to calm down after, the aftershocks of his explosive release trembling through him. His cousins hold him through it all, whispering soothingly and he clings to their strength like a wanderer lost in the dark.

Somehow they end up tangled together on the bed, Findaráto curled up in Findekáno’s arms and Maedhors behind him, his arm thrown over the both of them, warm and heavy. Findekáno and Maitimo quietly talk to each other, but Findaráto is too tired to catch much of what they’re saying. He does not mean to, but the exhaustion overtakes him and he falls asleep faster than he would have liked.

In the morning, he raises quietly so as not to disturb his cousins. Sometime in the night, Findekáno had turned around, his face burrowed against Maitimo’s chest, Maitimo’s arm still thrown over him, the fingers gently resting on Findaráto’s waist. Quickly and quietly, he collects his garments and slips into his tunic and breeches, casting one last fond glance at his sleeping cousins.

He thinks of staying, but he feels too much like an interloper, like someone intruding on what his cousins share. Many a magic thing may happen under the blanket of night, but at daylight they all have to return to the mantles of their lives. He does not want to burden them with his presence, for them tohave to find excuses for him to leave. Still, Findaráto lingers at the door, looking back at the two of them wrapped into each other, heart heavy with unnamed emotions, ere he traces his steps to his own rooms, cold and lonely.

If naught else, he will always have the memory to keep him company.

**Author's Note:**

> Credit goes to daphnerunning and Mertiya. They don't know me but it was mostly through their fics that I found inspiration to write anything for silm. So thank you.


End file.
